


some kinda something

by quillquiver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Covid-19 Related, Deepthroating, Dorks in Love, Face-Fucking, Global Pandemic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Queer Theory, Recreational Drug Use, Shelter-in-Place, but not actually marriage because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23402527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: There are only so many places to hide shit when you’re playing with 700 square feet of totally shared living space. This is something Dean has become very aware of in a very short amount of time.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 37
Kudos: 334
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	some kinda something

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Doing a challenge??? I know, it's wild!

There are only so many places to hide shit when you’re playing with 700 square feet of totally shared living space. This is something Dean has become _very_ aware of in a _very_ short amount of time.

He should’ve waited to buy the ring.

Not that it’s like—a _ring_ , ring, he reminds himself. It’s more like a… love ring. Cas’s views about _homonormative media_ and _marriage as a neoliberal ideal that perpetuates heterosexism blahblahblah_ —made it pretty clear he wasn’t really looking to get hitched. So, not an engagement ring. No wedding. But some kinda something; they’ve talked around it enough at this point that Dean’s pretty damn sure of what Cas wants and likes.

Unfortunately, when Dean ordered the ring, he hadn’t been banking on a global pandemic.

Between Cas’s penchant to leave used mugs everywhere and his sudden desire to take up cooking and crafting and _every other goddamn hobby that has him digging into things he normally leaves alone_ , Dean is gonna mcfreaking lose it. The thing came in a discrete little box eight hours before they were forced inside for who knows how long, and he’s lost count of the amount of times he’s had to relocate it since.

First, he hid it in the sewing kit his mom gave them. The innards of that thing haven’t seen the light of day in a literal decade, but Cas is an angel and has been making masks out of their old clothes. It’d been terrifying to come into the room and see the love of his life fiddling with a tin of safety pins that also held the band.

Then, Dean figured: the bathroom. So many hiding spots in the bathroom. But that was also a bust; Dean shoved the thing in between the emergency pads Charlie kept under the sink… and then Cas made up a basket for the women’s shelter. A couple minutes later and Dean woulda been out an entire paycheck.

In the shoe boxes under the bed? Cas wanted to deep clean the apartment.

In the freezer? They’ve been slowly cleaning it out to keep from going to the grocery store.

Dean taped it under a kitchen chair only to have the thing come unstuck and nearly give him a heart attack. He hid it on top of the laundry machine, in a pair of his socks, between the pages of one of his cookbooks—no matter where Dean put the stupid ring, Castiel somehow managed to almost find it.

The box of flax multigrain cereal is his last hope.

It’s Sam’s, so neither of them touch it, and it’s shoved so far back into the cupboard that Dean has to climb onto the counter to reach it. Between the stupid ring stuff and the virus, he’s been living on the knife’s edge of anxiety for so long that he almost hopes the motherfucker finds it.

So, while Cas sets up _Drag Race_ and packs a bowl, Dean enters the kitchen blessedly alone and under the pretence of getting snacks. He grabs the snacks—and he grabs Sam’s nasty-ass box of flax-whatever.

Putting the ring directly into the cereal is too risky, so Dean figures the safest bet is to shove it between the cardboard and the waxy plastic container thing full of horse food.

Unfortunately, Dean’s ring is not the only one in there.

The thing nestled among Sam’s errant flaxseed flakes looks ridiculously similar to the one currently clutched between Dean’s fingers: it’s a similarly thick band, also crudely hammered, but where Dean bought a ring with a line of gold shot through the middle of the band, the one at the bottom of the box is mostly gold with what looks like patches of other metals worked into it. It’s not oxidized like Cas’s is, so it’s not as blue, but it’s… it’s really nice. A little more traditional, which is—real sweet.

“Dean, are you—”

A couple things happen at once:

  1. Dean whirls around and knock over Sam’s gross cereal. It spills everywhere. Nobody is really upset.
  2. At the same time, Dean drops Cas’s ring into the cereal box and clutches the thing to his chest like that’s a totally normal thing to do to an empty cereal box.
  3. And all this happens right before Cas turns the corner into the kitchen, at which point he sees the mess and the box and immediately looks as guilty as Dean feels.



“I can explain,” Cas rushes to say. He’s in front of Dean in two strides, reaching for the box that Dean definitely does not give him because there are two rings in there why are there two rings in there sure they’d settled on a small commitment ceremony but why the fuck there are two rings in there.

“Dean— _Dean_ , would you let go of the box? Just—”

“No! There’s—I mean—hey, quit it—”

Cas manages to wrangle the cereal box out of Dean’s arms, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed a deep red as he carefully holds it to his own chest. “Okay,” he says breathlessly, “Dean, I—”

Oh _fuck no_.

Dean reaches forward and plucks the box from Cas’s hands, holding it protectively behind himself. Forget a deer in headlights; Castiel looks like he’s been run over by a fucking Mack truck. That’s fine, as far as Dean’s concerned; no way in hell is Cas giving his ring first. He didn’t put in the _work_.

“Um—”

“Castiel Novak,” Dean announces. His voice is shaking and he’s sweating and he might be having a heart attack, but hey, odds are real good Cas accepts the ring, so. “This isn’t a marriage proposal, but—”

“Dean, give it back!”

“No way, I earned it!”

“ _Earned_ it?”

“Yeah, earned it! As in, had to keep hiding the dumb thing every friggin’ five seconds because you kept cleaning and cooking and—mmph!”

Cas kisses him like they’re the last two people on Earth—or he would’ve, if he weren’t smiling so big. Flax cereal crunching underfoot, he presses Dean up against the counter before heaving him onto the thing, hands running up and down his thighs, to his ass, up his torso before their fingers tangle and he starts the circuit all over again. “Dean,” he breathes. “You—I—”

_Yes._

Just as smiley, Dean’s free hand is buried in Cas’s hair, the box carelessly dropped onto the floor as bowlegs wrap around his waist. He nods. “Yeah.”

“I love you,” Cas says. “Dean—”

Dean hums, hands gently cupping Cas’s jaw. Cas’s fingers clutch tight to Dean’s wrists, blue eyes wide and wet as Dean pulls away to rub a thumb over his cheek. “Baby…” he breathes. His own vision is blurring. “I love you.” A beat. “Can—I wanna—”

“Yeah.”

They don’t make it to the bedroom—laid out on a bed of flax cereal, Dean pulls Cas on top of him and pretends Sam’s rabbit food isn’t digging into his ass cheeks. They sixty-nine like they’re in high school, hot and hard and fast. Cas drools enough to get spit all over his fingers and then ventures down Dean’s balls to tease his hole, which is just—impossible to deal with when Dean’s trying to deepthroat him. He moans. “Cas. Cas, I’m—”

Cas swallows.

He presses a fuckin’ embarrassing little kiss to the tip of Dean’s cock, head pillowed on his freckled thigh as he grins and presses a kiss there, too. Still heaving from his orgasm, Dean throws an arm over his face amid a stuttered breath. “Jesus,” he mumbles.

“Mmm close,” Cas grins. “My sexual prowess has indeed been compared to the second coming.”

He wriggles his brows like a lecherous old man, and Dean laughs and shoves his head, giggling through a yelp when the asshole _bites him_. “You’re such a dick,” he huffs, drawing him up and rolling them over. Cas goes willingly, throwing a leg over Dean’s hip and grinding sweet and slow. Dean smirks.

“You ready for me, Casanova?”

The kiss Cas gives him is not so much suited to a fuck on the kitchen floor as it is to someone’s wedding night. He pulls away with his crooked half-smile, the one that lives mostly in his eyes as he leans in to nudge their noses. “Always,” he breathes.

Dean swallows thickly. “You wanna fuck my mouth?”

Cas nods. “But first.” He reaches back, feeling around until he finds the cereal box and digs inside it. Moving up on his elbows he accepts Dean’s kiss with a filthy hum, offering up the two rings and a palm full of stray flax seeds. Dean bites his lip, moving back as Cas sits up and takes his left hand, slipping the ring onto his fourth finger. He kisses Dean’s knuckle and shrugs like they both aren’t on the cusp of crying again. “I’m a big believer in vena amoris,” he says.

Dean laughs, quickly moving to the put the other ring on Cas’s finger. He presses a kiss to the base of it, moving down to Cas’s palm as he looks guides the hand up and into his hair, trailing kisses down Castiel’s sternum and tickling his ribs and nipping down his treasure trail. “ _Fuck_ ,” Cas breathes.

Blowing Cas on the kitchen floor isn’t the most comfortable way they’ve ever done this, but the rings more than make up for the ache in Dean’s knees. He relaxes his throat and breathes through his nose and feels the band biting into his scalp as Cas guides his head, humming when the same hand moves to brush over his cheek. “Fuck. Dean…”

They entwine their fingers, Cas’s thrust turning quick and sloppy as he bites his lip and furrows his brow. He takes their joined hand and shoves Dean’s head down on his cock, coming with curled toes and a choked-off whimper. Dean doesn’t spare a drop. With Cas boneless, he pulls off and collapses onto his chest, hands still held tight.

“…I think there’s flax in my asscrack,” Dean mumbles.

Still panting, Cas moves to pat one of said ass cheeks consolingly.

***

After a shower and an unspoken agreement to stay bed-bound, they’ve set up drag race on Dean’s laptop and then totally ignored it in favour of each other. It’s mostly looking at each other and the rings and giggling a lot, but it’s in Dean’s top three afternoons, hands down. Cas traces his fingers over Dean’s and bites his lip, the tips of his ear turning pink. “I, ah, had written a speech. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to do something like that now or with family, or…”

Dean grins. “Yeah?” he asks, looking up through his lashes because he’s a dick. “Was it about how hot I am?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Though I definitely make mention of how pleasing I find you, I thought to save all my explicit compliments for when I could kiss them into your skin. Like, for example, when I tie you up later and eat you out.”

Dean chokes. “Ah—you—”

“Mostly,” Cas says. “I just… Well, I wrote about how thankful I am. To know you. To love you. Doing so has been a gift, Dean. Really.”

Dean swallows thickly. “Y’know… I—I don’t need a speech. I mean, I love that you wrote one, and I want to hear it, but I don’t—I don’t need a big show in front of our friends and family. I like this being just us.”

“So… you’d be okay with just some kind of party, once things go back to normal? Something small?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want this to be something you regret—”

“Hey,” Dean says, moving to rest his ringed hand over Cas’s heart. “I’m sure, okay? I’ve done some serious thinking and, especially with how uncertain everything is, I like this better.” He narrows his eyes playfully. “I just hope you know that even though we aren’t technically married, I’m gonna refer to you as my husband to literally everyone: _hey, meet my hot hubby, Cas. Oh yeah, sorry, gotta get home to the sexy ol’ ball n’chain…_ ”

Cas kisses him quiet, pulling away with a grin so wide it threatens to break his face.

“I can live with that.”


End file.
